My precious one, I follow you. I’m a sinner. Please, forgive my sins. Oh, the magnanimous one, you are my savior from my sins – to you, I dedicate everything.
My consciousness slowly erges out of the fog. It appears that I fell asleep while seated. After being in the sa position for too long, my body creaks painfully when I move a little.
(Where am I…)
As I survey my surroundings, the stone floor is damp from humidity, shimring seductively. The intricate gothic carvings of the walls conveyed a weighty sense of ceremony. In front of , an altar, with countless candles alight behind it.
So, it seems that I had fallen asleep in a chapel. The disrespect of my actions, even before the presence of God, is undeniable.
Although I’m non-religious, a sense of guilt washed over , as if I’d committed a prank and been caught. I rake my fingers roughly through my unruly black hair in an attempt to brush off this feeling, then stood up. The wooden bench creaked at the movent.
The room doesn’t have any windows. The wavering, uncanny light of the candles is the only source of illumination. The candles are scattered haphazardly on the floor, on the walls, all lit but none provides any warmth. On the contrary, the flas of the candles enhance the shadows, forming a chilling impression of sothing hideous lurking in the darkness.
Intentionally, I tap the floor a few tis with the tips of my shoes. The tapping sound echoes and dissipates in the room. Far from dispelling the silence, it makes the quietness even more conspicuous, a suffocating stillness creeping in. The feeling is terribly lonely.
Even your breath echoes in the quiet space making you feel strangely alone.. It’s as if I’m an anomaly—an unwanted presence that doesn’t belong.
Without my noticing, my gaze drifts towards the altar. I hadn’t taken note of it earlier, but now I see a marble sculpture placed under the candlelight.
It’s a statue of a hooded figure, arms raised towards the sky. It seems to be praying, or perhaps begging. Despite being rely a statue, I sense an eerie vibe from it. Perhaps I’m just being swallowed by the atmosphere here.
I take a deep breath, trying to swipe away these feelings.
The scent of lting wax. The sll of moldering wood emanating from the bench. The dust odor. The bizarre, rancid sll of mold. All scents mix, flowing through my nose and into my lungs. Although the air was not fresh, I still felt more calm than before.
“Ah, Andy-sama. Thank goodness. So, you are here.”
My na is called, but it feels so strangely estranging to .
My real na is Andou Ryu, written in kanji as 安藤隆. However, the locals find it difficult to pronounce, and despite my multiple corrections, they kept calling
Andrew. Now, I’ve accepted it. Apparently, Andy is the shorter version of Andrew. But, the truth is, only one person here addresses
as Andy. After a beat, I turned to the owner of the voice, smiling.
“…Amalthea.”
At the entrance of the chapel stands Amalthea, a lady draped in a matte black robe that blends with the shadows. Answering my call, she joins her hands as if in prayer.
“Oh, Andy-sama. Indeed, it is Amalthea. Yes, please call
Amal as usual. When you address
so formally, it makes
considerably lonely.”
“Oh, I apologize then. Amal.”
“Hehe, Andy-sama, being called that by you brings
the highest joy. Please rember that.”
Her hood was pulled down, hiding her face, but from her clear voice, it was evident that she was in her teenage years. Amalthea is the sister at Stonehurst Monastery. She was the first person I t when I arrived and, just like this ti, she found
lying in this chapel.
Amal found
when she was offering her prayers in the chapel. It happened just about half a year ago but feels much more distant.
I’ve lost recall of why I ca here.
What caused my arrival here also remains unclear. I can only describe it as a sudden jump back in ti to dieval Europe.
Not being adept at world history, I cannot determine where precisely within dieval Europe this place is.
Even stating that this is dieval Europe is only a rough guess; its accuracy is but a mystery. I regret not studying history with more earnestness.
“So, Amal? Is there sothing up?”
“No… just that, I just… wanted to et you, Andy-sama.”
At this, Amal lowered her head and quietly made her way to my side. Her action inadvertently brought a warm smile to my face.
At 27, I’m probably close to her age, a teenager. Here in the monastery our ages are relatively closer compared to the other monks. This similar age bracket allowed us to beco fast friends, and in this isolated monastery, we could have open conversations. She’s like a younger sister to
now, always worrying about her irresponsible brother.
Since eting Amal, the majority of my days are spent with her. The only tis apart are when she is engaged in her prayer rituals and when she is asleep. Seeing
missing, she would search for
throughout the monastery.
If my eyes slipped off from her, would she cause trouble? Thinking this made
stop deliberating.
“I see. Sorry, for leaving your side on my own. But, how did I end up sleeping here? Wait—let’s keep this a secret from Father Benedict. He’d be furious if he knew I was sleeping carelessly in the chapel.”
At this joke, Amal nodded deeply. She raised her hands, a motion she would make during prayers as if swearing an oath to God.
I scratched my head with a wry smile. I rembered, Amal is incredibly serious. While pondering over this, she spoke softly.
“Um, Andy-sama?”
After a pause, Amal added more words.
“Forgive my presumption, but staying in such a chilly place might lead to a cold. Please, return to your room. I shall prepare sothing warm for you to drink.”
Her tone was the usual calm, but there was an undeniable insistence in her words. She seed very keen on getting
out of here. Well, it’s expected, since the priest has also told
to stay away from the chapel. Amal is too kind to say anything harsh to . I feel guilty.
“Alright. Yeah, anything you make is always delicious.”
“Oh, Andy-sama. I will put my heart into making it especially for you.”
“Then, I look forward to it.”
“Yes, Andy-sama.”
Amal smiled gracefully and bowed her head. As I started to walk, she followed, keeping a precise three steps behind.
It’s not that Amal particularly emphasizes male dominance; it’s just that won of this era generally behave this way. The concept of gender equality is a relatively modern idea, erging in the modern era. Before that, won were often excluded from public fraworks and were always under the supervision of n.
“People are born free and equal in rights,” states the famous French Declaration of Human Rights. However, there is no ntion of won’s rights within it. The subjects enjoying the rights of liberty and equality were limited to white male citizens. It’s far from freedom and equality, quite ironic.
In essence, their fates were left entirely to their male guardians. If she’s a daughter, her father, if she’s a sister, her brother, or even possibly her younger brother, and if she’s a wife, her husband would manage her. Won spent their lives within the boundaries defined by them, from beginning to end. Whether it’s a cage or a form of protection, I can’t say anything.
However, the reason I can’t get used to that way of being is probably due to the difference in the era and culture in which I lived. I don’t intend to unilaterally condemn everything without taking those factors into account. But, I just can’t seem to accept it altogether.
I turned around to look at Amal. Amal stopped instantly looking puzzled. Ignoring her puzzled expression, I reached out my hand.
“Amal, let’s walk side by side. Co on, give
your hand.”
Amal shivered slightly, looking up at
in disbelief.
“But, Andy-sama, it would be presumptuous of soone like …”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you dislike the idea?”
“No…No, Andy-sama, that’s not it. It’s not because I don’t like it. There’s absolutely no reason for that. Just, just…can I really… really?”
Amal whispered as if her voice might disappear, “Can I really…touch you, Andy-sama?”, her tone questioning herself as she voiced her concerns.
“Of course.”
I answered just that and it was enough. Once again, I extended my hand.
In response to my reply, Amal took a sharp breath. I could see, from the gap in her deeply hooded robe, her skin, so fair it was nearly translucent, getting infused with a rosy blush.
She let her gaze wander over and over to my palm and face, and Amal pulled her hand in and out. She pretended to hesitate for a few seconds, but then she wrapped her palms in her hands gently, as if handling a fragile treasure.
“Ah…It’s warm,”
Amal murmured, looking intently at our joined hands.
***
“Here you go, Andy-sama.”
“Thank you, Amal.”
As I returned to the room, as promised, Amal had a warm drink ready for . I perched myself on the bed – a simple substitute for a chair – and took the wooden cup from Amal. The warmth subtly seeped into my hand.
Taking a sip, I could taste the sweetness of honey mixed with the refreshing citrusy flavor. The slight numbness on my tongue is probably due to the hint of alcohol I discern by its faint characteristic aroma. To put it simply, it was delicious.
“Amal, this is incredibly tasty.”
“Hehe, I’m glad it suits your taste. It’s a mixture of honey ad ??, lemon, and a few kinds of heated herbs. Because the heat evaporates so of the alcohol, you can drink it without worry. It will warm your body.”
“Thanks. I’m not really good with alcohol, but I can drink loads of this. It really warms you up.”
Despite my lack of eloquence in my complint, Amal genuinely smiles delightedly. I thought to myself that I should always praise her with such simple words.
While sipping my cup slowly, I looked at Amal. She was standing elegantly by my side.
“Amal, standing all the ti must be tiring. Co over here. And take off your hood too. It’s just , relax.”
“But…I…well…Yes, then excuse my intrusion.”
Seemingly concluding that resisting would be futile, Amal reluctantly removed her hood and delicately sat down next to . A gentle, sweet scent perated the air, her fragrance stirring my heart. To hide this, I struck up a conversation with Amal.
“You’ve got beautiful hair, as always.”
Her glossy silver hair fell down her back like strands of silk. One lock over her ear was braided and loosely hung down. Feeling my intense gaze, Amal blushed, pushing the lock of hair out of her face timidly.
“Is…Is that so?”
“Yeah, it is. What, do you think I’m lying?”
“No, not at all…”
Amal averted her gaze, seeming lost in thought. Her lonely and pained expression was unbearable for
to see. On instinct, I reached out, gently tousling Amal’s hair.
“When I first t Amal, I rember thinking how her hair shimred like a starry night sky. Even her eyes resembled rubies. You should have more confidence in yourself. In my hotown, you’d be considered a rare beauty, quite a sight to behold.”
“Ah, u-uh, Andy-sama!”
Amal’s face turned beet red. She modestly tugged at her clothes, her eyes teary and looking up. If she was doing this on purpose, she’d definitely grow up to be a beauty. The thought of her manipulating n in the future made
sigh with concern. I worried about what lay ahead for her, almost like a brother would.
As I stopped stroking her hair, Amal let out a forlorn “Ah…” She fidgeted, her shoulders trembling for a few seconds, her gaze wandering.
It seed she was embarrassed and flustered by my words, but she wished I hadn’t stopped stroking her. Though she didn’t say it, her actions made it clear, and I pretended not to notice, finding it adorable.
Growing impatient, Amal thrust her head forward, silently urging
to continue. She was so awkward at showing affection.
I ran my fingers through her smooth, tangle-free hair repeatedly. Amal humd in contentnt, occasionally glancing at
as if seeking approval.
I wasn’t sure what she wanted, but I nodded and smiled anyway. Seeing this, Amal’s eyes lit up, and she moved closer, tentatively resting her head on my shoulder. When I didn’t say anything, she closed her eyes, letting her guard down.
“You’re quite clingy today, aren’t you?”
“Is that… bad?”
“Not at all. It’s a big brother’s duty to spoil his hardworking little sister. Feel free to lean on
all you want.”
“…I’m happy.”
With that, Amal rubbed her forehead against my shoulder and slid her hand into my left arm, intertwining it with mine, as if to eliminate any space between us. Normally hidden by her robes, I could feel the unexpected fullness of Amal’s chest against .
“Whoa, soft…”
I tried not to dwell on it, but monts like these reminded
that she was indeed a girl.
“Master Andy. Ah… I wish I could stay like this forever.”
“Really? Well then, let’s just relax like this for a while.”
Pretending as if nothing was amiss, I engaged in light conversation with Amal, spending a peaceful ti together.
??. ad, also called hydrol, is an alcoholic beverage made by fernting honey mixed with water, and sotis with added ingredients such as fruits, spices, grains, or hops.
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